


a universe between us

by arachnistar



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pushing Daisies Fusion, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 05:27:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9864956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arachnistar/pseuds/arachnistar
Summary: Amy has many rules. The most important is this: she can bring the dead back but she must let them die before a minute passes and someone else dies in their place. It’s remarkably easy to forget rules when Jake’s involved though. [Pushing Daisies fusion fic]





	

**Author's Note:**

> A B99 Pushing Daisies fusion fic where Amy has the power to bring the dead back. No knowledge of Pushing Daisies is necessary as I’ve only borrowed the basic premise. But you should all check it out because it’s a great show! Especially if you love romance and whimsical/dark comedy. 
> 
> **Warnings** for some violence and mild gore, talking about death though no major character stays dead, anxiety, and one panic attack. I promise this is a happy fic at its core.

There’s nothing particularly special about the drug bust they’re working, it’s just another Tuesday, which only makes it worse when everything collapses around them.

Rather than come quietly, their dealer, a bullish man by the name of Gregory Smirnov, runs. They chase him into an old building, up several flights of stairs and around corners, where he eventually turns and fires several shots – _one, two, three_ – in rapid succession. Then he keeps running.  

Normally Amy would be after him in a flash, ready to tackle him if that’s what it takes, but she’s frozen as her partner falls. The moment hangs in time, crystalline in its infinity, Jake’s body curving back, Amy’s heart stuttering in her chest, and then it’s over. He hits the ground and doesn’t get up.

“Jake!”

It sounds like it’s coming from somewhere else, not from her, this hideous gargoyle howl that claws its way out of her throat. Gregory is getting away but all she can see is Jake on the ground, a pool of red steadily growing around his head, entirely too still and silent and not Jake. 

She doesn’t know how she ends up next to him, just that she does, and that without even thinking about it, she grabs his hand. Warmth sparks between them. _You can’t have him!_ _Give him back!_

Suddenly he’s taking the first breath he’s had in over a minute and she’s letting go – that was the last time she would ever touch him, her crazed mind offers up – and moving back because what has she done, she promised herself she wouldn’t do this anymore because there are consequences, horrible consequences to messing with life and death.

Of course, she can always let him die again. It’s not too late. She could do it and let death take its natural course.

But the thing is - in this moment, she doesn’t care about the consequences. She doesn’t care that it’s a life for a life or that after her brother’s death, she swore never to bring someone back for longer than one minute. None of it matters because Jake is alive.

Jake groans. Amy shifts herself further out of reach, so he doesn’t accidentally touch her and kill himself all over again.

“How are you feeling?” She asks, chewing on her lip.

“Like I’ve been shot in the head.” Jake grumbles as he sits up. “Did you catch Gregory?”

Right. The dealer. Gregory Smirnov. The jackass who shot Jake. She shakes her head. He’ll be long gone by this point. Maybe he’s the one who will die instead of Jake. It would make a sort of karmic justice, she supposes, and make her feel better about the whole thing.  

She sucks in a breath as Jake touches his head and frowns. He pulls his hand back and stares at the red coating his fingers.

“Damn. Tell me this isn’t mine.”

He looks at Amy with large, brown eyes. She still has time to return his life, give it back to death so death won’t take another. She still has time to reverse this rash decision and keep her promise. But looking at him, alive, eyes bright, brow knit in confusion… she knows she made the right decision.

She would have been able to live in a world without Jake Peralta, they most certainly aren’t Romeo and Juliet, but it would have been a smaller, darker world for it. She tries not to think about who the world lost instead of Jake, whose world just became smaller and darker because of her.  

“Amy?”

“Jake…” She doesn’t know how to explain it to him. She’s never done this before. Well, she’s never done it with anyone she meant to keep except for Alberto and that was before she knew a touch could take everything away. 

“Is this a prank? Like this is totally cow’s blood, right?” Jake is starting to ramble as his fingers card through his hair and find more blood. “Very funny, Santiago. Do you have secret cameras filming? Is Ashton Kutcher going to pop out? Amy?” The last word is said as his fingers find the edge of the bullet hole, a plea for all this to be a joke. Amy wishes it was.

“I’m sorry, Jake.” She says and she means it. If she had been faster, if she had pulled the trigger of her gun before the criminal had pulled his - well there are a lot of what-ifs that could have prevented Jake from being shot in the first place. 

Jake shakes his head. “But I’m still alive. Unless we’re both dead? Are you dead too?”

Amy shakes her head again. “I brought you back. It’s a… I have this power. I can bring back the dead if I touch them.” 

Jake stares at her with wide saucer eyes. “Okay, now I know this has to be a giant prank. Didn’t know you had it in you for something so elaborate, Santiago.”

He grins at her, his expression pleading her to play along, but she doesn’t smile back. His smile drops off after a moment, his shoulders dropping. Amy takes a deep breath and explains it. Not everything, she can’t bring herself to admit the price of Jake’s life or how she discovered her powers in the first place, but everything else.

The last point she makes multiple times because he must understand its importance or it’s all for naught. “You can’t touch me again. Ever. If you do, you’ll go back to being dead.” 

Jake nods, but remains quiet throughout her entire explanation. It’s the longest that Amy has seen him go without speaking including the time Terry tried to get them all to play the Quiet Game and it’s concerning. But what else could she expect? Dying and coming back weren’t without their impacts.

“Am I going to develop a craving for brains?”

“What?”

“Y’know, I was dead and then I wasn’t. So zombies.” He wiggles his fingers in her direction and groans, “Brainsssssss.”

She laughs and he smiles at her and it feels like vindication for her choice.

\--

Amy discovered her power when she was five. There was a dead bird in the park and curious in the way of kids, she touched it. The body was already cold but a warmth spread out from her fingers. A moment later, the bird sat up, ruffled its feathers, looked at her with a shrewd eye, and flew off. She didn’t see the other bird drop dead out of the tree a minute later.

“I made a dead bird come alive.” She announced to her parents and brothers that evening at dinner. They laughed, of course they did, about her vivid imagination or how it must have been sleeping and she disturbed it, and dismissed her new ability. Being dismissed by adults was new for Amy, at least in this manner, so she launched her own investigation.

She looked for dead things in the yard and the park and the school grounds. Sometimes she found bugs and a couple times she found birds. She would bring them back and laugh in delight at her magical power. One time she found a squashed pigeon on the street but before she could touch it, her mother yanked her away.

“Don’t touch that, mija.”

“But I can help it.”

Her mother sighed and shook her head and dragged her away from the poor pigeon. It was her mother’s face in that moment, disappointed, that stuck in Amy’s mind. She decided maybe it was best not to talk about this power. After all, she didn’t want to disappoint her parents. She would tell them when it could be useful.

Five years passed and she rarely used her power. And then Alberto died.

\--

Jake is still a little skeptical but Amy knows he trusts her enough to avoid touching her for the time being. She just needs a demonstration to make sure his promise sticks. So she takes him down to the morgue with the excuse that they need to look at a body for a case. The ME nods her head and leaves, used to Amy’s requests to look at bodies alone.

Amy sets an alarm on her phone, 50 seconds, enough time so that she can let the man die before time runs out and someone else is struck down by the universe. Then she looks at Jake. She’s never shown anyone this power before; it’s exhilarating and terrifying and he needs to understand that he will die if he ever touches her, no matter how accidental and small the touch.

“Okay, this is going to be shocking but don’t freak out.”

Jake bobs his head. “That’s quite the way to introduce a weird kink, Santiago.”

Amy ignores the joke, starts the time, and touches the dead man’s arm. He bolts up, eyes wide and wild. “What’s going on?”

“You weren’t kidding.” Jake breathes out. His hand goes to his head, to where the bullet hole was. She wishes she could take his hand and tell him everything’s okay now, he’s alive, but then he’d be another corpse for the corpse room. “I really did die.”

“We’re dead!” The alive-and-dead man gasps.

Amy ignores the man. “I’m sorry, Jake.”

“I thought Heaven would look nicer. Some marble, lots of clouds, maybe some pina coladas to greet us at the gate. But this place looks grim. Or – are we in Hell? Because if so, I’d like to file a complaint.”

Jake also ignores the man. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry about. You’re the reason I’m alive again. I should be thanking you.”

Amy nods. She doesn’t want to tell him that another person died so that he could stay here. She definitely doesn’t want to tell him that she made her choice knowing all the consequences. He can live without that knowledge or the burden of another life.  

“Wait, we’re alive? Again?”

Jake reaches out to her, pauses midair when she steps away, and then drops his hand, “Right, sorry. This is going to take a while to get used to.”

“No more touching.”

“No more touching.” Jake nods rapidly. “Title of your sex tape.”

Amy fights down the urge to punch him and channels it into her most annoyed voice instead. “Jake.”

“Okay, I promise never to touch you again. And I know I’m extremely irresistible and you have a hard time keeping your hands to yourself, but you have to promise that you won’t touch me either.”

She smirks. “I promise I’ll resist.”

His grin shifts from shit-eating to something sincere and soft and _vulnerable_ , he _died_ and she brought him back, and he says, “Thank you, Amy.”

There’s a light that seems to shine from within him whenever he smiles like this, he’s absolutely luminous, and she smiles back. A second later, her phone buzzes. Right. The man. The one who’s supposed to be dead (like Jake) whom she’s going to return to death (unlike Jake).

“We going anywhere?”

“You are.” Amy returns. “But before that, can you tell us if anyone killed you?”

“No. At least I don’t think so.” The man frowns. “I was alone. Oh God, do you think someone murdered me? Are you going to put me in witness protection?!”

“Not quite. I’m sorry.”

She touches his arm again and he flops back down on the table without another word, as dead as he should be.

“You put a whole new meaning to touch of death, Santiago.”

Amy looks over at Jake’s grinning face and shakes her head, amused despite herself. “How long have you been sitting on that one?”

“Basically since I found out.” A moment later, Jake snaps his fingers and points it at her. She takes a step back. “How often do you use this for detective work?”

“All the time.”  

“Ha! Cheater.”

Her cheeks heat up. “I’m just using a different talent. And I still have to prove who killed them because courts don’t accept the dead victim’s word.”

“Whatever, cheater.”

\--

It turns out avoiding touching a person is difficult, especially when it’s always been such a natural component of their relationship. There are no more victory hugs or high-fives, they skirt wide circles around each other in the precinct, and they’ve even started passing files by sliding them along the table to avoid accidental hand brushes. 

Boyle is the first to notice. Neither Jake nor Amy are surprised by this though they are surprised that it takes less than a day.

“Are you two fighting?” Boyle asks, utter tragedy writ on his face. 

“Santiago and I are great.” and “No, why would you think that?” leave their mouths at the same time. 

“You haven’t touched each other all day.”

“We’re not always touching each other.” Jake shoots back. Boyle – and now Rosa and Gina are watching, that’s just great, they needed a party for this – does not look particularly impressed by this information. “That would be unprofessional.” 

“Very unprofessional.” Amy adds.

“Amy I get, but since when do you do professional, Jakey?”

Jake puffs out his chest. “I am always professional.”

Rosa snorts. “You’re the posterchild for unprofessional. You’re not even wearing a tie right now.”

Jake’s shoulders drop for just a moment before he’s standing tall once more. “I – that is – it’s in the wash!”  

They all give him a pitying look. Terry, who’s working at his desk and not involved in the conversation until this point, sighs. “You don’t put ties in washing machines, Jake.”

“My point still stands.”

“So what are you two fighting about?” Boyle asks because of course he wouldn’t forget about the subject.

“Why are you even noticing how much touching we’re not doing?” Amy fires back.

“When you have a front row seat to the greatest love story on earth, you pay attention.”

“Ugh, Charles.” Both Jake and Amy groan and he looks over at her. “Why did you have to ask?”

Amy returns his pained expression. “I regret all of it.” She turns to Boyle. “Jake and I are not fighting. We just haven’t had a reason to touch. Now can we get back to the work we’re supposed to be doing?”

Before Boyle can reply, Holt’s voice rings through the precinct, “Peralta, Santiago, my office,” and it’s the best sound Amy has ever heard. Or possibly the worst, she still can’t read his tones and there could be a reprimand coming, but at least they’re free from Boyle’s interrogation.

\--

The meeting with Holt is brief. Gregory Smirnov still hasn’t resurfaced, but there is a potential murder for them to investigate that may or may not be relevant. Amy’s stomach sinks when she realizes it’s next door to where Jake got shot. She hopes the dude is a serial killer or at least a big-time embezzler, but she knows his identity ultimately doesn’t matter. He could have been the world’s most generous man, he could have been Mother Theresa, and she still would have chosen Jake. She doesn’t look too closely at her reasons.

They’re not the only cops at the scene so she can’t resurrect the guy right then and there (not that she would – what do you say to someone you indirectly killed?) though Jake does shoot her a questioning look. Or maybe he shoots her a questioning look because she feels sick to her stomach, looking at the man whose life she traded for Jake’s, and it shows on her face.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

His name is Leon Ricci and he was an artist, judging by the number of landscape paintings scattered around his home. His refrigerator is packed with fresh vegetables and his cabinets with protein shake powders. There’s a single plant, a tall rubber plant, that was knocked over when Leon fell. He’s young with no prior health problems and as far as anyone knows, he died alone the previous day. His best friend found him when he came over for brunch. Leon is also definitely not the dealer from the day before, which is a disappointment unto itself.

The body is packed up for a medical examination and when they search the apartment, they find no signs of a struggle or anything else suspicious. Because of course they don’t. Because this is Amy’s fault.  

Afterwards, when they’re alone in the car, Jake asks, “Are we heading over to the morgue for a chat with our dead friend?”

Amy winces at his word choice but manages to keep her voice steady. “No. It gets suspicious if I show up all the time. Anyway, it was probably just a health problem.”   

“If he had health problems, then there’s no hope for the rest of us. The dude ate _kale_. I don’t even know what kale is.” Jake cracks a smile. Amy tries to return it but fails and looks away.

She feels a small pressure on her arm and looks down to see Jake pressing his baton to her arm. She knows it’s meant to be comforting, but all it does is remind her of what she did and what they can’t do now.

“You only die if you touch my skin. Clothes don’t count.”

“Got it.” He switches the baton for his hand, which hovers over her NYPD jacket before touching it. His hand closes delicately around her arm, as if she’s the one who might fall over dead at any moment from a stray touch. “Are you okay?”

“I told you I’m fine.”

“Yeah but I didn’t believe you then and I don’t believe you now. You’re acting weirder than usual.”

Amy sighs and turns to stare out the window. “I’m just tired.” 

Jake is quiet and then he sighs. “Okay, you don’t need to tell me what’s wrong. Just don’t pretend you’re fine when you’re not.”

He gives her arm another squeeze before letting go. It leaves her feeling as if she’s lost something vital, something she wants to and needs to chase after. Instead she links her shaking hands together and holds on, nails digging in to the skin.   

\--

Jake drops down in his seat. “The ME said it was a heart attack. Case closed, kale fails to save lives and we may as well eat whatever we want.”

Amy nods and fights back the sickness rising in her stomach. That’s what it always looks like. Or, well, it hasn’t happened very often but it’s what it looked like with Luis too.

She lets Jake finish up the paperwork (“but you _love_ paperwork!”) and sneaks out to smoke a cigarette. She is just about finished when Holt comes outside.

Face warming, she snubs out the cigarette and stares at the ground. “I need it.”

Holt frowns at her. “Do you?”

She thinks of the last 24 hours, Jake’s dead body and Leon’s death and her own vortex of guilt. She doesn’t regret any of it, except for failing to shoot Gregory before he could shoot Jake, but the guilt still refuses to budge. “Yes.”

Holt sighs. Amy shuffles her feet and considers running back away from this conversation and Holt’s disappointment. She’s going to need another cigarette or two at this rate. “Well… I should get back inside. Peralta and I have paperwork to finish and you know how messy he can get when he does it alone.”

“Santiago.” She stops and stares at Holt. He’s speaking a little slower than usual, as if he’s weighing each word before speaking. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“No, I’m fine, it’s fine, everything’s fine.” She stammers out, too loud.

Holt stares at her a moment longer and she knows she shouldn’t lie to her superior officer but she can’t tell him what happened. He wouldn’t believe her anyway.

“Very well.” He nods. “However, if you do ever have something to talk about, my office is always open.”

Any other time and for any other reason, she would have been one step away from a victory dance at Holt’s offer but right now, she just feels tired. Not even Holt’s approval can pull her out of it. Well, not all the way. She’d be lying if it didn’t make her feel the slightest bit better, even if she can’t ever talk about this particular matter with him.  

“Thank you, Captain.” 

\--

Amy expects to spend the night alone not thinking about Leon Ricci or his loved ones – and failing completely because she can’t turn off her mind when it’s hooked on a thought, she can only keep riding it in circles like the world’s worst carousel. She has plans for alcohol and a lot of Jeopardy and CSI to try anyway. 

What she doesn’t plan for is a knock at her door. Amy frowns at the intruding door. Her frown deepens when she sees who’s waiting outside.

“Jake? What are you doing here?”

He tilts his head and pitches his voice higher, “Hi Jake.” His head tilts the other way and a smile breaks out on his face. “Hi Amy. It’s so nice of you to remember your manners.”

Amy rolls her eyes. “Hi Jake. What are you doing here?”

“Welllllll, you seemed upset all day and even if you don’t want to tell me what’s wrong, I wanted to cheer you up. And, thank you for saving my life.” When she doesn’t immediately reply because there’s no framework for how to handle the sudden flare of warmth in her body, he lifts the bag of Chinese take-out. “I have food. Can I come in?”

Amy bites her lip. This is a bad idea, they should be limiting their contact and not showing up unannounced at each other’s apartments, but he already has the food and it smells amazing and he has this sincere expression on his face that she finds hard to turn away. She opens the door all the way and steps to the side.

They end up watching CSI together, critiquing the inaccuracies of the show, laughing at the smallest things. Somehow hours pass. Amy doesn’t think about Leon once.

It doesn’t cross her mind that Jake needs this just as much as she does until he’s half-asleep and reaching out to pat her knee. Even though it’s not skin, she jumps at the first contact.

“Thank you for letting me stay.”

Something in her chest shifts and she answers in the same quiet voice, “Thank you for coming.”

\--

Jake starts tagging along when Amy goes down to the morgue to speak to victims. He never asks her why they only have one minute to talk before she has to kill them all over again. She thinks maybe he’s figured it out and is too scared to confront it. Which is fine. Amy doesn’t need to tell him all her secrets.

That aside, it’s nice to have someone with her who knows what she can do. He stands back all of ten seconds the first time she interviews a dead victim before hopping in to help with the questioning. They get a routine down and sometimes, when the scene is quieter and the forensics guys aren’t around, they’re even able to bring the dead back at the scene of the crime.

“It’s almost boring how easy it is to solve homicides now,” Jake says after their latest talk with the victim. It was the husband, no surprise there, and the murder weapon was a letter opener they now need to find.

“We still need to prove it.”

“Because the dead wife said so.”

“Not sure that’ll fly over in court.”

He grins at her. “Funny how people don’t believe the dead.”

They don’t just spend time in the morgue together. Jake starts coming over with takeout after long workdays. They take turns choosing movies which is how she ends up watching all of the Die Hard movies including the very terrible fifth one and Jake ends up watching a documentary on revolutions despite his insistence that documentaries should not count as movies.

“You could make a badass dictator.” Jake says after that one. “Okay, maybe not a badass one, but you could definitely kill everyone, bring them back, and then demand they follow a very strict set of rules or else.” He mimes tapping someone. “So an efficient one?”  

Amy sighs. “I’m not even going to touch that one.”

“I would lead the rebellion against you, of course.”

“And I’d kill you with a single touch.”

He gasps. “You wouldn’t!”

Amy stares hard at him. “You’re the one who betrayed me first.”

“I had to. For justice. For freedom. For the American Way.”

Jake looks so ridiculous, chest puffed out and head raised like some revolutionary hero as he talks animatedly about freedom, that she can’t help but laugh. He tilts his head at her and smiles. Her heart skips a beat and then she’s not laughing, she’s just staring at his wide shoulders and the hair curling at the nape of his neck and his face.

“And that is exactly how I’ll beat you.”

She blinks and snaps her gaze away, cheeks warming at having been caught. “By making me laugh?”

“And then distracting you with my devastatingly handsome face.”

She snorts. “You wish!”

Internally, however, she’s unsettled by her lapse. She should not be thinking about her friend like that. The stuff between them is firmly in the past where it belongs. Maybe she should try dating again. It’s been long enough since Teddy and it’ll stop her from thinking about Jake like that and let her concentrate on their friendship.   

\--

Amy goes out with a nice man named Patrick who works in accounting at a consulting firm that does consulting on... well to be honest, Amy doesn’t know, she lost track of the conversation and can’t find it now. It’s not fair to Patrick, that she can’t stop thinking about curly hair and brown eyes and sparkling smiles that make her warm inside.

She ends up texting Rosa halfway through the date. _Please get me out of this._

Rosa calls with a fake work emergency and Amy leaves, apologizing and thanking him for a nice night and making no promises for a next time. She draws away before he can kiss her and scurries outside.

To her surprise, Rosa is there in a car. She’s had Rosa pull this maneuver three times already (so sue her, her last couple dates have all been awful, it’s hard to find someone good when you’ve got someone else in your head), but this is the first time Rosa’s actually come to pick her up. She has the sinking fear that Rosa has finally tired of the excuses and is here to kill her.

Amy slides into the passenger seat and smiles at her. “Thank you.”

Rosa grunts. “What are you doing going on dates with all these losers?”

“They’re not losers.”

“He was in accounting.”

“Accounting is very exciting.”

Rosa continues to stare at her. Amy feels a lot like a butterfly in a museum, pins driven through her wings, unable to move away and certain that she is not going to like whatever’s coming next. “You should ask Jake out.”

“What?! No! No! We’re colleagues! And friends. If we break up, it’d be awkward and our work would suffer.” Amy pauses. “I don’t like him like that anyway.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” 

“It’s the truth!”

“Whatever. I don’t care about your dating life.”

“Good.”

“It’s just your sexual tension gets really annoying.”

Amy coughs and splutters as Rosa smirks. She curls into herself then and tries to brush off the feelings. Liking Jake is dangerous in the same way that navigating a dark building without your gun raised is dangerous. You might turn a corner and end up dead.

\--

Despite her failures in dating and putting Jake out of her mind, Amy continues to hang out with him. They’re friends, there’s nothing wrong with it and it certainly isn’t going to lead to anything. He doesn’t even like her anymore, so it’s fine.

“Why don’t you just bring all the victims back and let them stay alive?” Jake asks one day while they’re sitting on his couch with a raspberry pie – Amy’s choice, after she correctly guessed that Scully would be the first to try eating from the unlabeled spackling paste bucket left on the kitchen table – between them. At Jake’s question, she drops her gaze to her half-eaten slice. 

“I can’t do that.”

When she doesn’t immediately offer an explanation, Jake rushes to fill it with his own, “Ooo, do you cut off a piece of your soul every time you bring someone back and if you let them stay alive, that part of your soul is gone from you forever? Is there a piece of you inside me, Santiago?” The moment those words leave his mouth, his brow wrinkles. “Forget that last part. I didn’t think about what that would sound like. But am I right?”

“I’m not Voldemort.” Jake blinks at her and she gasps. “You don’t know who Voldemort is?”

“Uh, no. Should I?”

“Harry Potter?”

“Is he the one with the X on his face?”

“It’s a _lightning bolt_.” Jake raises his hands in defense as she shakes her head. “I can’t believe you don’t know Harry Potter. They’re some of the most beloved books of this generation. They’re modern classics. They’re so good. _Everyone_ knows Harry Potter.”

“Right. Getting the impression that you like them then, huh?” Jake grins as she rolls her eyes, because of course she loves them, who doesn’t. Well, apparently Jake Peralta is who.

He nudges her with a socked foot and she jumps. “So what’s the real reason then?”

Amy sighs. She wishes they could keep talking about Harry Potter and why it’s essential reading instead, but this explanation has been a long time coming. The final slice of her secret. She’s tired of keeping it from him and chances are he’s already pieced the truth together.

She sets her pie slice to the side because food is suddenly very unwelcome in her stomach and begins, “There’s a balance in the universe between life and death. I can bend those rules but I don’t get to break them.”  

“Amazing. You have magic powers and you still don’t break the rules. You’re so reliable.” He says it with a fond smile. Amy feels herself grow warm at his tone and it makes the rest of her story easier to tell. This is Jake, she can trust him with anything.  

“I was five when I learned about my powers. There was this dead bird in the park and when I touched it, it flew off. I only brought back small things back then. Butterflies, birds, a squirrel once. I didn’t think too much about it then. Just that I was helping.

“Then one day I was playing outside with my two youngest brothers. Luis and Alberto. The ball rolled out on the street and Alberto… he went after it... A car hit him. He was the first human I brought back.” She pauses. She can still remember everything about that moment, clear as day: the red ball bouncing away after Luis kicked it, the laughter of their delight at Alberto chasing it, the cherry-red car tearing down the street, the thump Alberto made when it hit him, the way his body was broken and how quickly he died while Luis ran to get their mother.

Jake reaches over and rests a hand on her arm, in the middle of her jacket where he’s in no danger of touching skin. She shuts her eyes and draws strength from the warmth. She wishes he could take her hand, but this has to be enough. It’s all she’ll ever get.

“A minute later, we heard screaming from the house. Luis, he-he,” and Amy has never told this story to anyone, has never laid herself so bare before anyone, and the pain rushes through her, fresh like the day it all happened.

She can feel her chest constricting, the air thinning, the world falling away from her. Her body starts shaking and a sob escapes her throat. She takes in hasty lungfuls of air because suddenly breathing is the hardest thing in the world and Alberto’s small, broken body is etched into her mind.

Jake’s grip on her arm tightens marginally, just enough to remind her that he’s there. “Amy, it’s okay, breathe, you’re okay, Ames, you’re safe. Just breathe in, one, two, three, that’s it. And out.”

She focuses on breathing and on the circles he’s tracing with his thumb and on his voice repeating the same familiar phrases over and over again. The contact anchors her and after a few minutes, she’s able to finish, “H-he… died. They called it… it looked like a heart attack.”

She can’t bring herself to voice the next part, her own sick realization at what had happened and the tests she later ran with ants to confirm her hypothesis, so they sit in silence and let the implication sink in. Her chest still hurts and her body is trembling but her breathing is steady now. She wonders how fast Jake will put together that Leon Ricci died because of her choice. She wonders if he’ll reel back in revulsion or if he’ll thank her again for the sacrifice. She isn’t sure which option is worse.

“I’m sorry.” And even though he can’t hug her, his hand slides up her arm and he grips her shoulder and it’s almost as good as a hug. “I can’t imagine what that’s like, but… you don’t have to carry this alone. I’ve got you.”

Amy forces herself not to fall into him, not to take comfort in his arms lest she brush against his skin and kill him. But, eyes locked with his, she places her hand on his shoulder and returns the gesture.

\--

One week, four days, and twenty hours later, after they’ve wrapped up a difficult case involving stolen parrots, Jake finds Amy alone in the break room. He’s practically bouncing when he walks up to her, wringing his hands before him. It’s enough to set off warning bells in Amy’s head but it’s not nearly enough to make her realize what the next words out of his mouth will be.

“Do you want to go out with me?”

“What?” She’s not questioning him because she missed what he said. She heard it very clearly, she’s used to understanding Jake’s speech no matter how rapidly the words are fired, but she can’t quite believe it.

“Doyouwanttogooutwithme?” The words are even more jumbled together this time, as if he burned most of his courage the first time around and is now just using the last bits of tinder.

“I heard you the first time. I’m asking because you know you can’t kiss me? Right? You don’t get to make out with me at the end of the night.”

“Or touch you in any way.” Jake nods. “I know. It sucks. Like a lot. But I like you. I like you a lot. Even without any touching.”

“Oh.” Amy isn’t sure what to do but the room suddenly feels frighteningly small, only the two of them crowded close enough to reach over and kiss him, but also impossibly large, like the entire universe exists only in this space between them. It may as well, she reminds herself, given that they can’t touch. But… “I like you too.”

There are hundreds of Peralta smiles, but this one, where his smile stretches across his face, forming dimples, and he dips his head just a bit, is probably the most brilliant Amy has seen. “In that case, if you’re okay with having a date that doesn’t end in kissing, then I’d like to take you to dinner tonight.”

This is a bad idea. This is the worst possible idea Jake has ever had, including the time he decided Fruit Roll-Ups were an acceptable substitute for fruit and almost ended up in the hospital because of his experiment. But she enjoys spending time with him more than with anyone else and she’s gotten used to not touching him so it won’t be too challenging to keep that up. And it’ll be worth it.  

“Okay.” She nods slowly. It’s impossible to miss the way Jake’s entire face lights up or the way her heart lights up in response. “You’re really okay with this?”

“With you? Yes.”  

\--

The date starts out awkward, neither of them certain on how to act on a date with their close friend. It’s ridiculous really. They’ve hung out so many times before, this really shouldn’t be any different from any of those nights. But it is. Amy can’t even order any alcohol to soothe her nerves, in case drunk Amy touches Jake without thinking. She doesn’t even want to dwell on what four-drink Amy would do.  

After they order and sit in silence for a few minutes, Jake slaps his hands lightly on the table and leans forward, “I know first dates are always awkward, but this isn’t even our first date.”

“It isn’t?” Jake lifts an eyebrow at her and stares. It takes a moment for the memory to click into place. “Oh! The bet.”

He places a hand to his chest. “I can’t believe you almost forgot about it. After I spent so long planning it. I am wounded, Santiago. _Wounded_.”

“I mean it wasn’t – “ She cuts herself off and smiles. “You know what, it _was_ a good date. And it totally counts.”

“Totally.” Jake nods. “No more awkwardness?”

“None.” They smile at each other. “Hey, so, you never told me what else you had planned for that night. Before we had to go on the stake-out.”

“Ah, you don’t really want to know all that.”

“No, I _really_ do.” She leans forward. “You know plans and me.”

He smiles. “O-kay then.”  

The rest of the date passes as smoothly and comfortably as any other day hanging out with Jake. At the end of the date, Jake drives Amy home and walks her up to her apartment. They talk all the way up and then they’re standing at the threshold of her door with a good couple feet between them.

The yellow lights in the hallway are fuzzy and bask Jake in this soft glow. His hair curls, beckoning, and he’s still smiling, that small awed smile that makes her stomach swoon, and his eyes are a soft brown. And his lips, she imagines how soft they would be under hers, if she only took a step closer and – 

It’s that thought – and the very real fear that suddenly grips her heart because she thought she could do this but boy, was she so wrong about it – that forces the words out of Amy’s mouth.  

“We can’t do this, Jake.”

His face falls. Instantly Amy feels a stab of regret for being the one to end his smile, but she’s already done it and now there’s nothing to do except stay on this course. It needs to be done. For his sake. She can take his hurt feelings and her own broken heart if it means guaranteeing his safety.

“Because we can’t touch? I told you that I don’t care.”

“This isn’t something temporary, Jake! It’s not going to go away one day. It’ll be a problem until we split up or you die because we weren’t careful enough one time and got caught in the moment. What kind of relationship is that?”

“We can still have something good.”

Amy shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Jake. This was a mistake.”

One moment his face is broken, mouth a little open and eyebrows drawn, the next it’s shuttered and wiped clean of emotion. Somehow that’s worse.

“I’m sorry too.”

He walks out. Amy lets him go. She knows it’s the right choice, even if it feels like the wrong one.

\--

Things are tense at work. Jake is disturbingly quiet, not even taking the chance to point out Boyle’s horrendous new leather jacket (he’s trying for a cool bad boy look, the effect of which is significantly marred by the fringes and the pink heart emblazoned on the back). He keeps his eyes on his work and doesn’t groan about paperwork even once. Amy considers speaking to him, but when she opens her mouth, nothing comes out so she gives it up. He just needs some time. 

When Jake eventually needs to staple his papers, he goes to the stapler by the copy machine instead of stealing the stapler from her desk like he’s done since she got to the precinct. Amy pretends that it doesn’t sting. When Jake returns, Boyle is waiting by their desks.

“Tell Papa Boyle what happened. Did you two end up in an argument? Do you need me to be the Cupid that fixes your relationship?

“We’re not fighting. And there’s no relationship to fix.” Amy sighs. She can feel everyone’s eyes on her trying to drill the truth out and so she stubbornly refuses to look up from her work. Technically she’s right, they’re not fighting. They’re not anything.

Moments later with no end to the staring in sight, Jake stands up from his desk again. “Fine. You all want to know what happened?” His voice is shockingly loud in the precinct. Amy withdraws further into herself. “We went on a date. It didn’t go well. That’s all.” He walks out of the room. Boyle shoots Amy a look mixed with concern and devastation before hurrying after him.

A moment later, Gina saunters over to Amy’s desk and perches herself there. “You two went on an actual date?”

Since Jake spilled the beans, Amy has no choice but continue. She speaks around the mild nausea threatening to close her throat. “Yes.”

Gina looks over at Rosa who shakes her head. “Doesn’t count if they didn’t start dating.”

“Damn.” Gina look scornfully at Amy. “How could you do this to me? I was betting on you two crazy kids getting together by the end of the month.”

Amy groans and drops her head. If only the earth could open up and swallow her whole. After a moment, she feels a small pat on her shoulder, Gina she thinks, but by the time Amy rolls her head to look, she’s gone.

\--

Four days, eighteen hours, and five minutes pass. Jake and Amy continue to avoid each other, Boyle continues to stare at them like the child in the world’s most tumultuous divorce case, and Terry carefully makes sure they don’t have to work cases together, for which Amy is endlessly grateful for. She considers sending a gift basket but somehow _thanks for not setting me up with my failed date_ does not seem like the type of message he would appreciate receiving.

The period when they can just avoid each other ends at morning briefing with Holt’s announcement.

“Gregory Smirnov has resurfaced.” Amy’s blood runs cold at the mention of Jake’s murderer. She glances over at Jake, whose face is mostly blank. The only signs that this bothers him are his tightly pressed lips and his curled fists. “Our source says that he’s connected to a much larger operation than previously suspected. We need to locate their headquarters and plan a raid. Peralta, Santiago, since you two were working this case previously, you’ll take point on this.”

Jake looks over at her then and Amy’s heart stutters in her chest at having been caught staring. His brows furrow together and he frowns. Even when they’re barely speaking, she can read his face clear as day. _Should we work together?_ Amy doesn’t have an answer for him before Holt clears his throat.

“Is there a problem, detectives?”

They look away from each other and chorus, “No, Captain.”

“Good. Then get to work.”

So they do. In complete silence, except for the occasional unavoidable work-related comment. It’s miserable and despite the lack of distracting banter, they’re somehow getting less work done than usual.

The next day, Holt calls Jake into his office. Amy spends the entire time worrying about it and reassuring herself that they’ve come up with a list of potential buildings to check out. So maybe they’re not quite as fast as they have been in the past, but they still have potential leads to follow up and Holt can’t possibly find fault with them. Once Jake leaves his office, he gestures for Amy to go in. Holt waits for Amy to sit before speaking. 

“Santiago. It’s come to my attention that things are tense between you and Peralta right now.”

Amy considers lying but the rest of the precinct already knows and honestly Holt probably does too. He’s just being subtle about it. She resists the urge to sink into her seat. Quashing her stirring stomach, she says, “Yes, Captain. But I promise we’re not letting our personal lives affect our work.”

Holt lifts a hand and she trails off. “I know. You two are my best detectives and your work together has always been exemplary.” Even though this conversation is a train wreck in potential mortification and stress, Amy glows at the captain’s praise. “However, given the current circumstances, I think it best to have Detective Boyle go on the stakeout with Peralta.” Amy nods. “Detective Peralta has already agreed to it.” She nods again, unsurprised.

Being stuck in a car with Jake in the same crushing silence that has been haunting them at the precinct sounds like a nightmare and a half. Nonetheless, she can’t help but feel a streak of sorrow from snaking through her. They have always worked well together and their friendship has come to mean a lot to Amy and she misses both those things. She doesn’t want to lose either of them, but she’s afraid she already has.

“You will still be involved in the raid tonight, should Peralta and Boyle locate the correct warehouse.”

“Yes, Captain.” She stands. “May I go?” 

Holt stares at her for a long moment. She resists the urge to squirm in her spot. Finally he exhales heavily, as if preparing himself for a long marathon. “Amy.” The use of her first name has her straighten up, alarmed.

“Sir?”  

“Understand that I am not trying to get involved in your personal lives, but I would like to offer some advice, if I may.” She nods, never one to deny advice from her mentor even though this really isn’t the type of advice she wants from him. “Whatever reasons you have for your actions, while valid, may be… over-complicating matters. People tend to do that when they’re scared. You should choose what makes you happy.” 

“I would, sir, but it’s just…” Amy trails off because she can’t talk to Holt about this without talking about her ability and he won’t believe her ability without a demonstration and she can’t show him that because it’ll open a whole different can of complicated worms. She wracks her mind for another way to say _he might die if I ever forget myself and touch him_. Her words feel inadequate but it’s the closest she can get to the truth. “I don’t want him to get hurt.”

His eyebrows lift marginally. “Do you think you’ll hurt him?”

“Not intentionally.”

Holt leans back in his seat. “Life and love are not without their risks. There is always a chance that someone ends up hurt. But without taking those risks, you’ll lose out on some of the best moments of your life.”  

Amy nods, not sure what else to do. “Thank you, Captain. I’ll think about it.”

She has no intention of seriously considering his words. In any other context, she would seize them and mine them for their wisdom but they don’t apply in this situation. Injured feelings and death are not in the same playing field.  

\--

Five hours and thirty-six minutes after her discussion with Holt where she fails to put his words aside, they put together a team to storm the warehouse. Amy and Jake lead one group to the front door while Boyle takes a group around the back. The dimly lit warehouse is crowded with old shipping containers. At the center of the room, a cluster of men jump up and draw guns at the sudden intrusion.

“NYPD, you’re under arrest!”

Bullets start flying almost immediately. Their group spreads out. Amy focuses on taking men down and then she hears Jake’s shout. Her blood runs cold, this can’t be happening, not again, she won’t be able to bring him back this time and then he’ll be gone forever. She rushes to knock out the man next to her before turning to search for Jake.

“Jake!”

It takes her two endless minutes of wandering through the maze of shipping containers before she finally finds him slumped against a shipping container.

“Jake!” She kneels beside him. Her hands flutter over his body as she looks him over. He’s clutching his arm and his hand is covered in blood but otherwise he seems to be fine. “Are you okay?”  

“Got shot in the arm. It’s a lot more painful than it looks in the movies.” 

“Okay, just stay calm.” Amy’s shaky voice is not as calm as she’d like it to be, still unsettled by his scream and the panic that he may have died. She takes a deep breath and tries again with a little more success. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Yeah.” His eyes lock with hers and even though his body is shaking, his voice is remarkably steady. “You’re here.”

Amy looks away, unable to hold his intense gaze for much longer. She stands and positions herself to watch for anyone who may try to escape this way or hurt Jake further. One man does come running past but a quick swing at his legs knocks him to the ground.

Looking down, she recognizes his bald head and paunchy face. It’s Gregory Smirnov. Rage rushes through her blood. If it wasn’t for Gregory, Jake never would have died, never would have needed resurrection, never would have been made vulnerable to her touch. She should kick at him until his ribs break. She should kill him right here and now and claim self-defense later. No one would think twice; there’s a gun fight going on around them and a casualty will be unsurprising.

“Amy.” Jake’s voice breaks her thoughts.

She sighs. She _wants_ to do all those things to Gregory. But she won’t.   

Meanwhile Gregory starts to pick himself off the ground near Jake’s feet. His eyes lock with Jake’s and he frowns. “Didn’t I already shoot you?”

Before Jake can answer, Amy swings the butt of her gun down on to Gregory’s skull. He goes down without another word. It doesn’t quite satisfy the primeval roar in her blood, but it does feel good and the thought of his future imprisonment satisfies the rest. Amy crouches to slip handcuffs on him.

“For a moment, I thought you were going to kill him.”

Amy pauses. “I wouldn’t do that unless I needed to.”

“I know.”

No one else comes their way and Gregory remains unconscious until the raid’s end. Amy passes Gregory off to another cop and helps Jake to an ambulance. She stays while the EMT works on Jake’s arm. Jake doesn’t say much and Amy only speaks when he gives the wrong blood type, but she hovers nearby, unwilling to leave his side after he almost left this earth. Her heart continues to beat hummingbird-fast in her chest, unwilling to shed the night’s panic and fear and rage yet.

One hour and twenty-two minutes later, she finally arrives at her apartment. Part of her wants nothing more than to collapse in her bed and sleep for a few years while the rest of her is awhirl with thoughts. She compromises by getting into bed and not sleeping.

Jake almost died again. If the bullet had hit his head again, he would have and no amount of touching would have brought him back. In the light of tonight, it feels almost foolish to avoid him lest she forget about touching him when every day at their job could bring death from an unexpected knife or stray bullet. Neither of those two risks have ever deterred Jake from doing his job and if she’s being honest, the risk hadn’t deterred him from asking her out either. It’s just her fear that holds them apart.

Holt had said that love was worth taking risks for. Of course he had no idea that their biggest risk was death-by-touch but perhaps the point still stood. They could be happy together if she let it happen. They’d have to be careful, but they were already careful in their friendship and surely they could make it work. 

Amy spends the next couple hours rolling around in bed, every single thought playing on a circuitous repeat in her brain, until she finally passes out from sheer exhaustion.

Fortunately she has the next day off and gets to sleep in. Once she finally wakes up around noon, she goes over her thoughts while eating breakfast and then rushes off to Jake’s apartment. She knocks on his door and stands, bouncing on her toes, while she waits.

A moment later, he opens the door.

“Amy?” Jake frowns. He looks a little out of it, eyes squinting at the hallway light, and he’s still in his pajamas. She feels bad for coming over when he’s supposed to be resting, but this couldn’t wait.  

“Hi Jake.” She takes in a deep breath and lets all her night’s ruminations out. “I almost lost you again. And I realized if you had died… there would have been so many things I’d regret not doing. Jake, I like you. I really like you, and even though we can’t touch, I want to try. If you still want to, I want to go out with you.”

He smiles and it’s the sun after a rainstorm, the oasis after a long trek through the desert, the slide of a fresh eraser after weeks of using the dirty stub of an old one, better than every cliché in the book. “Definitely.”

\--

Dating Jake is both the easiest and hardest thing Amy has ever done. It’s easy to be around him, to spend hours talking with him about their days and movies and anything else that comes up. They wear gloves and long jackets when they go out, so they can hold hands and lean against each other without fear of death.

But she has to remind herself not to touch him. Sometimes all she wants to do is grab him and push him up against a wall and she has to dig her nails into her palms to stop herself. Sometimes they argue over how much distance to keep between themselves, with Amy always falling down on the side of caution. Sometimes they see other couples on the streets, kissing good-bye or flat-out making out on the park benches, and Amy wants to scream from frustration.

Their relationship remains a secret for about one week, which is incredible and only possible because of the sheer amount of work at the precinct. Gina is the first to find out, when she spots them holding hands, wearing gloves of course, and loudly congratulates them for figuring it out.

Everyone else looks their way and bursts into applause. Boyle starts crying and asking when the wedding is. Rosa hands Gina fifty dollars because they all had a bet going as to when they would finally go out and Gina flashes Amy a thumbs-up. Terry comes close to weeping over his big, grown-up children. Holt comes out of his office to tell everyone to quiet down and offers them both a small nod and smile.

And a reminder to notify HR about their relationship. Jake salutes him and Amy feels warmth flow through her at the gesture and her friends.  

\--

Three weeks, five days, and ten hours later, the entire squad is at Shaw’s crammed around a table. Over in the corner, there’s a young couple engaged in some serious face-sucking, which Amy is doing her best to ignore because it only makes her wish she could do the same to Jake. Not here, but at home. The couple giggles. Amy grinds her nails into her skin.  

“I am going to arrest them for public indecency.” She mutters under her breath. Jake is the only one to catch it and he touches her arm gently.

Boyle, meanwhile, also notices the couple. With a sigh, he looks over Jake and Amy. “When you two first started dating, we thought you were going to be all over each other all the time like that. We haven’t even seen you kiss yet.”

“We’re not that type of couple.” Jake replies with an easy shrug.

“Jake and Amy are a couple?” Hitchcock says and Boyle sends a pointed look at them.

“See what I mean.”

“That’s not really fair.” Amy argues. “Hitchcock didn’t notice there was mold growing on his sandwich.”

“Didn’t notice or didn’t care.” Hitchcock remarks smugly. “It’s a mystery you’ll never figure out.”

Amy’s nose scrunches up. “Eww.”

“Still, as much as we would all love to see it, as long as you two are making each other happy, we’re all happy.” Boyle claps his hands together. “You are happy, right?”  

“Yes, Charles. We are very happy together.” Boyle squeals at Jake’s words. “And we make each other happy all the time... In bed. A lot.” Amy nudges Jake to shut him up before he lets loose with a full-on uncontrollable babble.

“Tell me all about it!”

“Nope, not happening, buddy.”  

Boyle tries to get Jake to spill all his secrets by offering his own supposedly tantalizing stories about lovers, all in the name of friendship and sharing; at which point, Jake slaps his hands to his ears and starts talking loudly.  

“I’m getting another drink.” Amy slips off to the bar. Since she’s avoiding alcohol tonight, because drunk Amy cannot be trusted to keep her hands off Jake, she orders an iced tea.

Rosa slips into the spot next to her. “Ignore Charles. The rest of us don’t need to see that.”

“I know.” That’s not the part that bothers her. It’s that they can’t kiss. Period, full stop, publicly or privately, never going to happen unless she wants to end the kiss with a corpse. And this conversation – and the fact that she can’t tell her friends any of it – only makes it harder. “I just have a lot on my mind.”

Rosa nods once. “You think too much.” Amy can’t argue with that. The bartender sets Amy’s drink down then and Rosa lifts a brow at it. “Iced tea?”

“Shut up. I just felt like one.”

“Not judging.”

“You’re judging a little.”

“Maybe a bit.” Rosa taps her beer bottle against Amy’s glass. “But it’s your life. Do what you want and don’t overthink it or what other people think of it.” 

“Just like you.”

“Yeah.”

Amy spends the rest of the evening drinking with Rosa until a very drunk Gina drags Rosa off to the dance floor. Rosa doesn’t normally dance but either she’s had enough drinks (though she doesn’t look affected at all) or Gina just has that influence on her because she dances along. Not quite as enthusiastically and freely as Gina but still – her limbs move and her hands settle on Gina when she gets close. Amy banishes all her traitorous thoughts about dancing with Jake because that will never happen.   

Jake comes up to her partway through the second song. “I have a surprise for you. Let’s go.”

At Jake’s apartment, he leaves her in the living room and returns dressed in a bomb suit. Amy laughs for a full minute and then they hug in the middle of his living room for several long minutes, hands roving over one another. It’s a challenge to feel Jake’s body through the bulky material, but he promises that they can switch places later.

“Right now though,” he pitches his voice lower like a Romantic prince and asks, “Would you care for this dance?”

“Oh, I thought you’d never ask.” She throws on the same accent and he grins.

Once Jake turns on the music, he tries to teach her how to not stomp on his feet while doing some very simple steps. The bulkiness of his suit combined with her complete lack of dancing ability leads to many a trodden foot. Eventually they settle on simply swaying together.

“How can you be so bad at this? It’s just _swaying_.”

“Shut up.” She hisses and he laughs. Soon enough she joins him and then they’re laughing hard enough that standing is no longer an option.   

Afterwards, they sit on the couch together, Property Brothers burbling from the TV. She curls up next to him, tucking herself into his side. It’s not what Amy imagined when she dreamed of being with Jake long ago but she is with him and ultimately that’s what matters. His gloved hand strokes her hair and she snuggles closer to his bulky form and closes her eyes. She can’t feel his heartbeat through the layers but she imagines the steady pulse. Affection and contentment bubble up in her chest and she starts to drift off.

“Is this enough?”

Amy blinks, thoughts hazy with sleep. She isn’t entirely certain he said it in the first place or if she imagined it or if he said it thinking she was asleep and wouldn’t be able to hear. Regardless of which one it was, she places her hand on his helmet, imagines cupping his cheek instead, and pushes herself up to place a kiss on the glass. Behind the glass, Jake’s eyes are soft and crinkled with delight at the corners and they make Amy’s insides glow.

“You always are.”

\--

One week, three days, and twenty hours later, they’re sitting at opposite ends of the couch watching The Princess Bride, tossing popcorn back and forth, cracking jokes, and quoting lines. It was fun until they got to the kissing scene and now it’s just… rude frankly because she wants to kiss Jake so much but then he’ll die. She can feel Jake’s eyes on her so she purposely keeps her eyes on Buttercup and Westley instead of Jake’s lean body and heated eyes.  

Jake sighs. “This is like the ultimate chastity belt.”

“No kidding.”

“Maybe we should hire someone to touch the other person for us. Like we’d say ‘give him a high-five for me’ or ‘cradle her face with your hands because she’s a beautiful genius’ and ok, or maybe not.” Jake adds at the look on Amy’s face, his own face scrunching up. “Forget I said anything. That was a bad idea.”

“Idiot.” She agrees with a smile.

“What if we just covered ourselves with a giant body condom? That would be okay, right?” Jake’s face scrunches up again. “Ergh, maybe not. And what if it ripped?” 

But Amy’s mind has already started spinning. “That might not be such a bad idea.”

“What?” Jake flounders as Amy shoots up and goes to her kitchen. Jake watches from the back of the couch, movie forgotten in the background. “You keep body condoms in your kitchen, Santiago? I am _very_ disappointed in you. Didn’t they teach you anything about hygiene?” 

Amy ignores Jake’s ribbing; she knows he’s curious about what she has up her sleeves. And then she returns to the living room, the piece of saran wrap hidden behind her back as she steps up to the couch. She lifts the wrap up between their faces and leans down until she can feel the warmth of Jake through the plastic and then her lips are touching his. Well, technically they’re touching the plastic which is touching him – whatever, it’s not important. 

The important thing is they’re kissing. Sort of.

It’s… weird. That’s the first word that pops into Amy’s head while their lips are just pressed together with a sheet of plastic in between. She can feel his warmth but the texture is off. Then Jake starts moving his mouth and okay, it’s still weird but in an exciting way because she’s kissing Jake Peralta and she can feel the heat of his mouth and it almost doesn’t matter that there’s plastic between them because her stomach is still falling and her knees are weak and the world is spinning on its axis.

Amy ends the kiss first, pulling back before it can get any more intense and he forgets that he’s not allowed to touch her. That would be a downer on what is turning out to be her single-most brilliant discovery.

She takes in Jake’s face, his eyes soft and wide, his mouth slightly open, and feels her chest tighten.

“That was, wow, Ames, you’re a genius.” Jake breathes out the words and for the fluttery aspect of his voice alone, she leans in to give him another quick kiss.

“Yeah.”

“I will never think of saran wrap in the same way ever again.”

She laughs and comes around the couch to sit near him. They end up discussing other methods to make this work. Full-face saran wrap masks are out (“we need to _breathe_!” “breathing is for the weak!”) but full-body spandex is in (“it’s so thin, it’s almost like touching skin and I’m sure Gina can get us some” “we are _not_ asking Gina, she’ll think it’s for weird sex stuff” “…it kinda is?”).

And then they kiss some more because they can totally do that now thanks to saran wrap, the world’s third best invention after television and trampolines according to Jake. First best, he amends later, when they’re both tired and stretched out on the couch.

\--

One year, four months, seven days, and nine hours later, Jake moves in with her.

They never sleep in the same bed because neither one of them can be held responsible for cuddling in their sleep. They take turns sleeping on the floor or on the couch at first until they give that up in favor of two beds. The gap between them seems impossibly wide, a chasm full of their desire, but she still gets to wake up and see Jake’s face in the morning so it could be worse.

It’s one of those days when she wakes up early and the light is shining just right through the blinds, casting Jake in its golden rays. He’s peaceful in his sleep right now, brow smooth, hands curled into his blankets. Eventually his eyes blink open, still groggy with sleep. When he sees her looking, he smiles and his face is even brighter than the sun outside. 

And she thinks, _I love you so much_.                                                                                       

He looks a bit awed, like he does whenever she says she loves him, as if it’s a precious gift each and every time, and then his smile widens, “I love you so much.”

And she hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but she’s glad she did, for the look on his face and the warmth in her chest. It’s all worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr](http://proofthatihaveaheart.tumblr.com/).


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